


Finding Night Vale

by ImprobableDreams900



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is insecure, Cecil meets the real world, I'm Sorry, Inhuman Cecil, Kidnapping, Lots of Angst, M/M, Tentacle!Cecil, Unofficial Sequel, human Carlos, some violence, to hilarious effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobableDreams900/pseuds/ImprobableDreams900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Carlos leaves Night Vale for a brief visit to his scientific colleagues and cannot find his way back, Cecil decides the only course of action is to go after Carlos himself...and brave Carlos' world in the process.</p><p>Sequel fic to NimmedNostalgia's one-shot "Hunting for Night Vale"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Locked Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hunting for Night Vale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980810) by [nimmednostalgia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimmednostalgia/pseuds/nimmednostalgia). 



> So I read NimmedNostalgia's one-shot "Hunting for Night Vale" ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/1980810 ) and couldn't bear to leave it where it ended, so here's a sequel! You should head over and read NimmedNostalgia's first; this one'll make a bit more sense that way.
> 
> Set somewhere between First Date and Old Oak Doors.

By the third day, Carlos’ heart was beginning to break.

He’d been driving around in the desert for days now. Sometimes he’d driven aimlessly, other times following the NVCR signal blaring from his portable radio. But no Night Vale.

He was convinced now that the town must move—he’d stopped the car once, flat reddish-tan sand expanding featurelessly in all directions—and just waited there for about an hour. NVCR’s signal strength fluctuated wildly, sometimes strong and clear, other times broken and static-filled. Since he wasn’t moving and there were no signs of inclement weather (or any weather at all, for that matter), it stood to reason that Night Vale must be mobile.

Now he was roaring down some crumbling tarmac road he was sure he’d been down before, kicking up red sand behind him. The radio was cutting in and out, and snatches of “Blank Space” emanated from his car stereo in between the bizarre sounds of piano wires being sautéed over medium heat coming from the portable radio.

He gazed blankly out the driver’s window, watching the featureless sand flying past, wondering if he’d ever see Night Vale again. He remembered how much attention Cecil had heaped on him that first day, how big of a deal it had been that a stranger had arrived in Night Vale. He thought about how few outsiders had arrived since. He could count them on one hand.

The only thing he could figure was that it must have been luck—sheer, dumb, blessed luck—that he had arrived in Night Vale in the first place. He must have simply been in the right time at the right place, fallen through some sort of looking glass and emerged on the other end of the rabbit hole into his beautiful crazy Night Vale.

Or maybe Night Vale was hiding from him. He didn’t want to think about that, but it was a distinct possibility. Maybe Night Vale was done with him, or thought he was bad for Cecil, and in any case wanted him to leave. Maybe it thought that, since he was technically an outsider, he should never have arrived in Night Vale in the first place, and now the town was simply attempting to correct its earlier mistake in letting him in.

At any rate, he was cursing any and all thoughts that had compelled him to visit his colleagues in Flagstaff in the first place. It had only served to fulfill a base desire to be recognized for his work, anyway. And maybe he _had_ been looking for a brief respite from the weirdness of Night Vale, but now he was cursing this normalcy. It was _boring_ here; that was the plain and simple truth of the matter. It was dry and hot and colorless, and seemed so incredibly _empty_. It was prejudiced and cruel and full of strangers passing strangers on the street. Night Vale was everything the real world was not, and Carlos missed it (and a certain radio broadcaster) so much that it hurt, a deep ache in his chest that told him that this whole trip had been a mistake. And now he was going to pay for it and be stuck here forever.

He couldn’t even find Desert Bluffs again—just the little hatefully “normal” towns with cheap motels and tacky tourist stops. He remembered that Cecil had briefly visited Desert Bluffs some months ago, and knew that he had had to pass through a strange otherworldly portal to get there. He wondered what the odds were of him finding one of those out here in this blasted desert.

Carlos glanced down at his dash, at the tiny red pin tapping “empty” on his fuel gauge. He took his foot off the gas and coasted for a while before rolling to a stop and getting out to empty the last of the gas cans into the car.

Once he had emptied the can and put it back in the trunk, he took a moment to look out across the desert, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun beating down mercilessly from above. A hot, stiff wind blew across the desert, but otherwise all was still. A couple clouds hung high and still in the distance, and there was no sign of civilization in any direction. Carlos climbed back into the shade of his car and consulted his map. It wasn’t that he really needed to; he’d circled these roads for hours, driving in grids and spirals and every pattern he could think of, until he’d memorized every inch of this damnable desert. Nothing.

The scientist hadn’t reached even a small town in quite a while, and needed to find one before he ran out of the last of his gas. The closest settlement of any description was ahead of him, though it was east of where he had found the strongest signal and wasn’t even large enough to merit a name on the map. He dropped his foot onto the accelerator.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

Carlos gassed up at the tiny unnamed patch of civilization and pulled his phone out as he stood by the car listening to the meter tick. For the hundredth time, he dialed Cecil’s number, and for the hundredth time the phone beeped at him and spit out some computerized voice saying that the area code was not found. He tried the NVCR station phone as well, but got the same message.

Carlos inhaled deeply and put his arms up on the roof of his car and dropped his forehead onto them. He could feel the world pressing down around him, the walls of reality hemming him in, trapping him. If it wasn’t for the radio in the passenger seat broadcasting NVCR, he might have thought he was crazy, that perhaps he had dreamed Night Vale up—maybe as some sort of bad acid trip or part of an alcohol-induced coma. But the memory of Cecil kissing him good-bye was too strong and fresh in his mind.

He absently listened to the portable radio, which was currently broadcasting static with an occasional burst of what sounded like wood blocks clacking together. It was all he had left. Every night he turned on Cecil’s show and let his boyfriend’s voice wash over him, deep and soothing and perfect. He tried to ignore the fact that each time he tuned in, Cecil’s voice sounded a little less unaffected and a little more lonely.

And Carlos knew that if he couldn’t get back to Night Vale, he’d have to listen, day by day, as Cecil slowly realized that Carlos wasn’t coming back. Would he think Carlos had abandoned him? Left the insanity of Night Vale for a more comfortable life? Would he think Carlos had lost interest in him, and simply left? Or died? Would he hate Carlos for deserting him? Or would he cling to the hope that Carlos was still out there looking for him? Would he have to listen as Cecil’s heart broke on the radio every day he woke up and Carlos remained absent? Or, worst of all, would the radio host break Carlos’ heart and forget him, instead finding someone else to lavish his affections on? Would he have to listen as Cecil fell in love with another man, went through the same motions?

Behind him the pump clicked that he was full, and Carlos lifted his head from his arms, sniffling and pawing embarrassedly at his eyes with his sleeve. It was best not to get into such destructive circular hypotheticals if it could be helped, Carlos reminded himself; it was terribly unscientific.

Carlos filled up the gas cans as well, paid, and got back in the car. He rolled slowly through the town-that-was-not-technically-a-town as twilight descended around him, wanting to drive in circles in the desert all night if he had to, forever if that was what it took. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an unending supply of money and, like it or not, he _was_ getting tired. He checked in at the only motel he could find and lay despondently on the bed, staring up at the cracking ceiling. He’d put the radio on the night stand, and Carlos listened detachedly to the warbling howling that preceded Cecil’s show tonight. He couldn’t bear the waiting to hear his beloved’s voice again, but at the same time he dreaded it. He didn’t want to listen to Cecil wonder where he was—he’d promised to be home within three or four days, five at the very most, and this was the night of the fifth day.

The introduction music came on and Carlos closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath, steeling himself.

 

_Time, dear listeners, is not what it seems._

_Sometimes time is deceitful, other times cruel._

_Sometimes it tells blatant lies._

_Do not listen to time, listeners._

_Time does not tell the truth._

_Welcome to Night Vale._

 

Cecil continued with the show as usual, but Carlos could tell he was disappointed. He talked about the sudden transfiguration of everyone’s mailboxes into fanged, vicious, man-eating creatures, and Carlos wondered if it was wrong of him to want to rather be eaten by a man-eating mailbox in Night Vale than sit in this motel all alone listening to Cecil’s forced cheerfulness breaking his heart.

He closed his eyes and let Cecil’s voice wash over him, wishing that if he focused hard enough his boyfriend would simply materialize in front of him, that he could somehow pull him through the veil and hold him again.

Instead all he had was a voice, tumbling through the air, carried on impermanent waves of sound, each wave with specific periods and amplitudes and frequencies, passing through matter like a game of telephone, and perhaps if he followed those waves all the way back—

Carlos sat bolt upright, his eyes flying open. Radio waves. That was it.

He jumped off the bed, grabbed his keys in one hand and the portable radio in the other, and ran out the door. Darkness was descending on the town, but Carlos managed to accost the teenager closing up shop at the local RadioShack just in time.

“Dude, we’re closed,” said the youth, who looked tired and not in a helpful mood.

“I’ll just be a minute, I need to buy a couple things. Here—” Carlos dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash. “That’s for you, just open the shop for a couple more minutes, please.”

The kid looked skeptical, but shrugged, took the money, and unlocked the door.

Carlos dashed around the store, pulling wire and transistors and transmitters off the shelves, everything he thought he might even need, casting his mind back to an electrical and radio class he’d taken in college. Five minutes or so later, Carlos dumped his load on the counter up front and searched his pockets for a credit card. Luckily, his account was still open, and the payment went through. Carlos tapped his fingers impatiently on his pant leg as the kid scanned and bagged each item, and then set about locking up again as Carlos sprinted outside.

He floored it back to the motel and immediately scattered the contents of the bag all over the tiny coffee table. He set the portable radio up next to them and listened absentmindedly to Cecil’s voice as he tore open packages and stripped wires.

Cecil’s show ended but Carlos kept working, pulling up a schematic on his phone and twisting wires together as indicated.

This was going to work.

This _had_ to work.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

Around eight o’clock the next morning, a beam of sunlight slid onto Carlos’ sleeping face. The scientist twitched, then cracked an eye open. He was lying fully dressed on the bed, and it looked like something had exploded on the coffee table. Carlos put an arm up to shield his eyes and staggered to his feet. He opened the curtain and squinted outside, where cars were beginning to roll past.

He turned back to the coffee table and a sense of urgency gripped him.

Carlos dropped to his knees by the table and pulled the product of last night’s labors towards him. It was, supposedly, a radio transmitter, and he’d hooked it up to a makeshift clicker that would allow him to transmit pulses. He transferred it carefully to the plastic bag from last night’s purchase and dropped in a piece of paper covered in dots and lines. He tossed everything he knew he wouldn’t need into the trashcan and gathered all the extras into his duffel bag. He wasn’t sure if he would be returning, so he checked out of the motel and climbed into his car.

For what he sincerely hoped was the last time, Carlos drove into the desert. He listened to the awkward squelching noises coming out of the portable radio and drove until they seemed to come through the clearest. He pulled over, sand and gravel crunching under his tires. He got out of the car, walked a couple dozen feet into the desert, and folded himself into a sitting position. He pulled the transmitter out of the plastic bag and placed it on the ground in front of him. He unfolded the piece of paper and laid it on the ground next to him, using a couple small rocks as paperweights.

He then took a deep breath and began tapping out the dots and dashes on the transmitter. He’d translated a message into Morse Code last night using a website on his phone, and then written it out longhand. Practically everyone in Night Vale knew Morse, so he was feeling optimistic that his message would be received. He repeated the message three times, then adjusted the transmitter to a different frequency and tapped it out three more times.

Over an hour later, the sun determined to bake him into something with far fewer fluids in it, Carlos finally stood up. He’d repeated his message on every frequency he thought might be listened to, twice on the frequency NVCR transmitted on. He climbed back in his car, only to find that it was stifling in the heat. He rolled all the windows down and opened a bottle of water. He took a quick lunch break, eating a sandwich he’d bought earlier from the gas station. Afterwards, he drove on, found another patch of desert that looked promising, went out into the open, and transmitted it all over again. Damned if he wasn’t going to do this right.

His fingers were getting numb and his lips parched by the time the sun was heading downwards. He’d drunk all the water he’d brought with, so he climbed back into his car and drove all the way back to the nameless not-a-town, where he stopped at a café for supper, re-booked his room at the motel, and hunkered down to wait. He turned the volume on the portable radio all the way up and sat nervously on the edge of the bed, fingers drumming against his leg. He wasn’t sure if his transmitter had even worked, or if it had succeeded in reaching Night Vale. If this didn’t work, he wasn’t sure what to try next.

After what seemed like an eternity, the introduction music came on and Carlos held his breath as Cecil’s satin voice filled the room.

 

_We all receive messages from time to time._

_Some messages are good, and some are bad, and some are civically mandated._

_Some make us laugh, but all make us cry._

_Welcome to Night Vale._

 

Carlos let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and felt giddy with relief. He’d reached them! It had worked!

 

_Listeners, if you were listening to the radio at all earlier today you probably noticed a rapid succession of beeps on practically all wavelengths. Since everyone in Night Vale learned Morse Code in their bloodstone geography class in elementary school, you all know what it said. For those who did not hear the message, though, this is what it said—oh! And you’ll never guess who it was from!_

_‘To Night Vale and Cecil Palmer. This is Carlos. I am unable to find and return to the town. Please offer directions or instructions. Please tell Cecil I am trying to get back. I cannot locate Night Vale.’_

_Listeners,_ that _is why Carlos has not yet returned to us! It is not because he has forgotten us, or been detained, or found himself in violation of customs paperwork; it is because he has gotten lost!_

 

Carlos let out a short laugh. Not sure if ‘lost’ was the right word.

 

_At any rate, dear listeners, as everyone knows, Night Vale has no exact geographical relationship with its neighbors, and, as such, it is impossible to offer precise directions to its whereabouts. We in Night Vale tend to keep to ourselves, and hardly ever leave our little community, because it is so nice here! Yet it appears that Carlos has found himself trapped in this strange otherworld, unable to return to us, and I do not know why. But Carlos is also relatively new to Night Vale, so perhaps he is simply not looking at the right signs which would have pointed him to us._

_Tell me,_ Carlos thought to himself. _Tell me what I need to do._

 

_Unfortunately, most of these signs are invisible unless you are looking for them, or have performed the correct blood sacrifices._

_Great._ Carlos sat back and ran a hand through his hair.

 

_That is why I have requested and received permission from station management and the Sheriff’s Secret Police to take some time off to go and bring Carlos back to Night Vale._

“What!” Carlos jumped to his feet, staring at the radio in horror. “No, no, just tell me how to get back, don’t come here!”

His mind flashed through a horrible series of images of Cecil—beautiful Cecil, with his third eye and constantly shifting tattoos and purple eyes and tentacles—God, _tentacles_ —exposed to the “real” world. He would be ridiculed. No, he would be lynched.

 

_Hopefully, good listeners, I will only be gone a couple of days, and while I’m gone we’ll have a number of guest hosts and interns here at Night Vale Community Radio Station who’ll be running things. Now, going to the news, an influx of screaming coming from the Night Vale Post Office…_

 

Carlos felt a little weak in the knees and sat back down on the bed. Don’t get him wrong; seeing Cecil again would be great, but Cecil belonged in Night Vale. Carlos might have been able to accept—no, _adore_ —Cecil’s inhuman attributes, but not everyone would. And what if Cecil, after leaving Night Vale, couldn’t find his way back? What if he were trapped here? Even with Carlos’ help, it would be rough. Cecil knew how to survive in Night Vale, not his world. Would he be able to adjust to a world where stopping at stop signs was mandatory and getting arrested didn’t always end with getting let out the following morning with a smile and a “I played backgammon with the Sheriff’s Secret Police for thought crimes I committed, but have since seen the error of my ways” smiley-face sticker? He would be taken advantage of, surely, by everyone he encountered; Cecil was positively naïve about so many topics in the “real” world, just as much as Carlos had been when he’d arrived in Night Vale. There was simply no way Cecil’d be able to survive in this world.

Which was why Carlos was going to stop him before he ever set foot here. He whipped out his phone, tapped a short message into the online Morse Code translator, and grabbed his keys.

Twenty minutes later, Carlos pulled over onto the side of the road and dashed outside, shivering suddenly in the night chill. He fumbled around in the dark for a bit before sitting down on the side of the road in front of his car, using the glare from his headlights to see what he was doing. The portable radio was next to him, though Cecil’s show had finished.

Carlos tapped out the message as quickly and accurately as he could: ‘Don’t let Cecil leave. He might be trapped here. Make Cecil stay.’

Carlos repeated the message again, then drove farther down the road and did it all over again. And again. He was shivering when he finally got back in his car and drove back into the nameless town. The stars were out, but they weren’t the lights in the sky he wanted to see.

Hoping his message had been received, he dropped back onto his motel bed around one in the morning, exhausted.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

The stars twinkled overhead, casting precious little light on the dark desert and the arrow-straight road bisecting it.

Cecil walked calmly along the side of the road, humming quietly to himself. It was a little colder here than it was in Night Vale, but nothing he wasn’t used to. He tugged at his shirtsleeves, pulling them down from where they’d been rolled up by his elbows. He’d left as soon as he’d finished the broadcast, unwilling to leave Carlos alone in this strange desert otherworld any longer than absolutely necessary.

Truth be told, he had been terribly relieved to receive Carlos’ message; he had been worried something had happened, or that Carlos had left Night Vale for good. But he needn’t have worried—of course Carlos wouldn’t try to leave him. Carlos loved him. Right?

Cecil shoved his thoughts down and continued on down the road, under a sky with too few stars.

 

 --~~~--***--~~~--

 

The sun was rising by the time Cecil reached what appeared to be a major road. He hadn’t seen any towns, and the signs he passed were uncooperative and refused to answer his questions even when he drew the appropriate sigil on the back in his own blood and chanted to it.

He pulled out his phone and called Carlos, pausing on the edge of the road as it rang. He felt a smile creep over his face as he imagined Carlos’ oaky tones on the other end of the line. But the phone rang on and on and his smile faltered. The phone finally clicked to voicemail. Cecil waited for the beep and left a brief message, scuffing his foot on the edge of the asphalt as he did so. Maybe Carlos just didn’t have his phone on him at this exact moment. Yes, that was it.

He had returned to walking along the shoulder when he felt a tell-tale rumble in the pavement. He stopped and looked over his shoulder to see a semi truck roaring down on him. He stepped down off the edge of the pavement as the truck flashed by. A moment later the wheels shrieked and he glanced up to see its tail lights glowing red.

Cecil kept walking patiently as the truck rolled to a stop some feet in front of him. A head appeared from the window and motioned at him. He broke into a reluctant sprint to catch up as the man leaned further out the window.

“Hey, what are you doing, walking on the road like that? You trying to get yourself killed?”

Cecil squinted up at him. “Death is unavoidable, but I do not see how walking on a road would increase my chances.”

The trucker, a bearded man in his forties, stared down at him. “Are you on something, buddy?” he asked suspiciously.

“Just those municipally-mandated prescriptions deemed necessary for all citizens to prevent dissention, independent thought, and contagious snake-wheeze disease,” Cecil said matter-of-factly. “May I ask, have you seen a man—a scientist—pass through here? It might have been a couple days ago. He is about so tall—”

“Look, you want a ride into town?” the man interrupted. “Do I look like I was here a couple of days ago? Take it up with the police, if you like.”

“The police! Yes, of course. The secret police would have noticed the arrival of a stranger. Could you please take me to their headquarters? I know the appropriate blood spells.”

The man stared at him. “Do you want a ride or not? Because I’ve half a mind to leave you here.”

“A ride would be nice, yes.” Cecil admitted. “I did not think it would be so far to walk.”

“Well, where you headed?” the man asked as Cecil walked around the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.

Cecil was quiet for a moment. He didn’t know where exactly Carlos was, so perhaps it would be best to start his search in the last place he knew for sure Carlos had been.

“The man I am looking for, he said he had gone to…Northern Are-eh-zahn-yuh University.”

“Are-eh what now?” asked the trucker, casting Cecil a sideways glance as he put the truck back into gear. “Wait, you mean Northern _Arizona_ University?”

“Are-eh-zahn-yuh, but yes.”

The trucker gave him a long look, and for the first time the early morning half-light fell directly across Cecil’s face.

“Well, that’s in Flagstaff—say, what’s that on your forehead?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s a third eye. Could you perhaps take me to this Flagstaff? Is that a town?”

“Yeah, it’s a— _a third eye?_ ”

“It’s important for my job. Do you know how far this Flagstaff is?”

“About 50 miles by I-40. What are you, a fortune teller?”

“Radio host.”

“Ah. Well…” he glanced out the driver’s side window, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “ _crazy hippies_.”

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

An hour later, Cecil was walking along the sidewalk in Flagstaff, looking for either a Secret Police officer or the university Carlos had mentioned.

The sun had come up, and the air was beginning to warm. Cecil rolled his sleeves back up to his elbows, tucking his hands into his pockets. So this was the world his beloved Carlos came from. He was determined to love it.

He stopped every now and then to ask passersby if they had heard about a stranger to their town: a scientist, with _great_ hair and teeth like a military cemetery and a perfect smile that lit up his entire face. One after another, he was ignored or brushed aside with a half mumbled comment. Some downright stared at him in disbelief. A couple openly gawked at his forehead or his arms, where his tattoos swirled around amiably. A woman hid her child’s eyes as he passed. More than one muttered insulting things under their breaths, but Cecil figured it must be because he was an outsider here; perhaps their City Council had forbid talking to outsiders.

He did manage to extract directions to the Northern Airezahnya University out of one young woman before she dashed away to catch up with her friends.

He reached the university without too much trouble after that, and stood at the gates uncertainly, wondering where the bloodstone was to enter. He was running a hand over the stones and searching for blood stains when a car rolled up. A couple young adults got out and walked casually through the gates without sparing him a glance. He waited until they had gone through before cautiously following them, waiting for someone to ask him for a blood sacrifice, but no one stopped him.

He soon reached a building with “Campus Security” written above the door and sighed in relief; he should be able to get some questions answered here.

A couple teenagers stood behind a counter inside, chatting amongst themselves. Cecil watched carefully as the last of the youths from the car stepped up to a strange contraption set into the floor. Horizontal metal bars blocked passage across the building to the opposite doors. The student swiped a plastic card hanging from a lanyard over a gray square set into the contraption. It beeped, a small light lit up green, and the bars retracted, allowing her to pass.

Cecil’s eyes lit up with interest as he approached. He frowned at the contraption for a moment, then pricked his finger and pressed it to the gray panel. Nothing happened. He smeared the blood around a little bit more, hoping for a better connection, but the light remained red. Was there an incantation?

“Jinin umurtar ku da ku bude,” Cecil intoned, but nothing happened. He tried a different variation.

“Hey! What are you doing?” That was a gangly young man by the counter.

“It won’t accept my sacrifice,” Cecil said politely. “What’re the correct words?”

“Words? What?”

The teenager came around the desk and saw the sensor.

“Oh! What— _is that blood?_ ”

The other youths came around to see, and one, a delicately-complexioned girl, grimaced and covered her mouth.

“Am I supposed to put it somewhere else?” Cecil asked meekly. He raised his hand towards them in offering, blood dripping down his fingers.

“Woah, woah, man!” the gangly youth said, holding up a hand to stop the radio host’s advance.

“Are those tattoos…moving?” asked the girl, staring at his arms.

“Is that a third eye?” asked the third teen at the same time.

Cecil blinked open his third eye, letting them see its milky whiteness. “I’m looking for a man named Carlos. He’s a scientist. He would have passed through here, perhaps a couple days ago? Dark, really great hair—”

“I’m calling campus security,” the third youth said, moving back around the counter.

“Just…stay there, all right?” said the gangly teen, staring transfixed at the radio host’s eye. He had one hand half-raised towards Cecil, as if soothing a wild animal.

Cecil tugged nervously at his collar, uncertain where the allegiances of this “campus security” lied. “Could you take me to the Secret Police, or perhaps your City Council? I’m just looking for—”

On the other side of the room, a kid walked in, a pile of toast wrapped in a napkin in his hand. “Got you guys some—what’s up?”

Cecil gasped and pulled himself over the barrier, rushing the kid.

“Hey, hey—geez!”

Cecil grabbed the toast and forced it out of his hand onto the ground, where he began fiercely stomping on the offending slices, grinding them into the floor with his heel.

“Dude! What the hell?”

Cecil looked up at him, all three eyes wide. His hair was sticking up in places, and there was a smear of blood on his collar. His first two eyes were a shimmering, unnatural purple, and the upper one was totally white. Despite appearing to be sightless, it bored a hole straight into his soul. His tattoos had briefly frozen into sharp geometric shapes along his forearms.

“Wheat or wheat by-products,” Cecil whispered fiercely, his voice low and urgent.

The kid stared at him. He nodded shakily.

“Now, which way to where the science happens?”

The kid pointed feebly behind him and to the left and Cecil clapped him on the shoulders and beamed at him. The kid half expected pointed teeth.

“Excellent.” The tattoos swirled out of their sharp angry patterns and into pleasant circles.

Cecil moved past him and walked off down the path, whistling to himself.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

The first science building Cecil tried was locked; the second was open and seemed to go on forever. He paced the long corridors, body tensed to run if anything jumped out and attacked him.

Eventually he peered through a window and saw a couple people—scientists, surely—in lab coats, clustered around a row of tables covered with glass beakers and microscopes.

Cecil smiled and opened the door.

Three faces turned to glance up at him, and three faces stopped to stare.

“Hello!” Cecil said with a wide smile. “I’m Cecil Palmer, Voice of Night Vale, and I’m looking for Carlos. He’s a scientist here.”

There was the sound of breaking glass.

“Good Lord. He wasn’t crazy,” said the oldest scientist.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

The scientist who had spoken ushered the two younger scientists out with something about “making up class later” and closed the door behind them.

He turned to eye Cecil again as the radio host smiled nervously at him.

“I’m Professor Walter Carrington, you can call me Walt. You’re…you’re from Night Vale?”

“Yes. Did Carlos tell you about us? He said we were the most scientifically interesting community he’d ever seen.”

Walt carefully advanced on Cecil like he was a skittish animal, moving in a slow circle around him. He stared alternatively at Cecil’s forehead and his forearms, and for the first time, Cecil began to feel a little nervous. These were Carlos’ colleagues; he didn’t want to embarrass his boyfriend. “Um, have you seen Carlos?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. He was…he was here a couple days ago. I haven’t seen him…he left. To go back to Night Vale, he said.” Walt ground to a halt and seemed to force himself to meet Cecil’s eyes.

“Do you know where I could find him?”

“Not a clue. He wasn’t very specific as to where Night Vale even was, said it was…hard to describe.”

Cecil blushed a little. “Yes, well…we got a message that he was lost, and I came to get him.”

“Well, he’s not—”

The door swung open and two more scientists came in. Both were well-dressed, but neither wore lab coats.

“Monica said—oh.” The scientist in the lead stopped.

“Denise, Frank, meet…Cecil? He’s from Night Vale. He’s looking for Carlos.”

“Well, I’ll be…” the woman scientist stepped forward, tilting her head at Cecil. “I’m Denise Froeunhauf…don’t worry about the spelling.”

The other scientist remained by the door, making no effort to introduce himself.

“The quiet one’s Frank Tanner,” Walt said when Tanner made no effort to introduce himself.

“May I—may I touch your tattoos?” Denise asked Cecil after a moment.

Cecil shrugged and held his arm out. “They might be shy. Don’t take offense.”

She carefully reached out and traced the edge of one of the tattoos, which swirled away from her fingertips and scurried underneath the fold of cloth near Cecil’s elbow. She retracted her hand quickly, as though she had done something wrong. The motion, the hesitation—it reminded Cecil painfully of Carlos when they had begun dating. Carlos, who had so gently wanted to stroke each and every tattoo regardless of how much they disliked being petted. Carlos, who was lost somewhere in this strange desert, looking for Night Vale…

“Have any of you seen Carlos? Know where he might be right now?”

Denise carefully stepped back. “He didn’t really say, sorry.”

“What exactly _are_ you?” asked Tanner, in a tone that wasn’t as kind as it could have been.

“Er, well, technically speaking, I’m a Lovecraftian eldritch abomination. That’s mostly just because of the tentacles, though. The eye’s for the job and the tattoos are for me.”

“Lovecr—tentacles?” Denise eyed him.

“Would you like to see them?”

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

Carlos paced his motel room anxiously, trying to decide what to do. He could wait for tonight’s broadcast to see if Cecil had gotten his message to stay in time, but that seemed like a terrible waste of time. If Cecil _had_ left Night Vale, he couldn’t afford to wait until nightfall. He could be in serious trouble.

Halfway through his pacing, he realized that, if Cecil had come through earlier as he feared, he might have taken his phone with him. He tugged his own out of his pocket and pressed down the appropriate button, but the screen remained blank and unresponsive. He swore quietly and pulled his charger out of his bag and stabbed it into the motel wall. He plugged it into his phone and waited impatiently for it to light up.

It registered one voicemail. Carlos hastily entered his password and lifted it to his ear. It was Cecil. “Hi Carlos. I’m…well…I’m not sure where I am. I’m looking for you, though. So, I guess…call me back when you get this.”

Carlos cursed the fates that had killed his phone battery and hit redial.

On the third ring, it clicked and Cecil’s voice floated out to him. “Carlos?”

“Cecil, thank God! Where are you?”

“Hi Carlos! I’m with...um…Walt and Denise and Mr. Tanner.”

Carlos frowned. “Walt—wait, you’re at the university?”

“Yep! There was a man eating toast here, Carlos. Toast! Do you think they realize?”

Carlos was torn between sighing in relief and exasperation. “Cecil, how did you end up in Flagstaff?”

“Oh, there was a nice man driving a truck who gave me a ride. Did you know—their Secret Police service seems very lax and spotty here.”

“Listen, Cecil, you’re in danger here.”

“What kind of danger?”

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cecil, this world is not like Night Vale. The third eye, the tattoos—the tentacles especially—there’s nothing like that here.”

“That’s unfortunate for them.”

“Yes, yes, but it makes you _different_ , Cecil, and that puts you in danger.”

“I don’t see what you mean.”

Carlos inhaled shakily and sank onto the motel bed. “You don’t need to understand, just be careful. Don’t talk to any more people than you have to. Okay, you said you were in Flagstaff?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t—” Carlos stopped, weighing odds in his head. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted his other scientists with Cecil. He’d known Walt for a long time and he was responsible, but Denise and Tanner were new and he didn’t know either of them very well. “Okay, Cecil, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk to the closest motel and you’re going to get yourself a room. Tell the man at the desk that you’re waiting for someone, and they’ll be there in under an hour, and they’ll be paying.”

“Who am I waiting for?”

“Me, Cecil, me. I’m coming to get you.”

“Oh, goodie!” There was a strangled cough on the other end of the line. “I mean, neat! I mean, er, good.”

Carlos returned his hand to its spot rubbing his nose, but this time he smiled. “Okay, Cecil, can you do that?”

“Sure. Go to motel, wait. Got it.”

“And, let’s see. Do you have a jacket with you? A coat or something?”

“No.”

“Okay…is there something you can cover your arms with?”

“I’ve got long sleeves.”

“Excellent. Keep your tattoos covered.”

“Why—”

“Just do it, Cecil, I’ll try to explain more later. Now…can you borrow a hat from someone, maybe? Don’t—keep your third eye closed, and try not to attract too much attention. And whatever you do,keep your tentacles to yourself.”

“Whatever you say, Carlos. You are a scientist.”

“Yes! I’m a scientist, and the scientifically best thing to do right now is roll down your sleeves and get a hat and meet me at the closest motel. Text me the address when you get there.”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Carlos sighed, this time in relief. It was going to work. Cecil was going to be okay. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Carlos.”

“I’ll be right there, an hour tops. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…” Carlos was loath to hang up on Cecil, but it was in favor of seeing him in person sooner. “Bye, then. Stay safe.”

“Bye.”

Carlos ended the call. He stared at the screen for a moment, then stood up quickly and began throwing his stuff together. He was out the door in under a minute.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

“Carlos says I should meet him at the closest motel,” Cecil announced as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“You sure you aren’t better off staying here?” Denise asked.

“I’m sure you’re all very nice and smart and very good scientists, but I would like to do as Carlos asks.”

“Let me give you a lift, then,” Walt said. “Someone of your…character shouldn’t be wandering around alone.”

“That’s what Carlos said.”

“Yeah, well, he’s right. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

Cecil thanked Walt as they arrived at the closest motel, and Walt even paid for the room. Cecil fiddled nervously with his sleeves, which he had pulled down over his forearms. It felt strange, hiding himself from the world, but if Carlos said he had to do it, then he must have good reason.

Walt wanted to stay until Carlos arrived, but Cecil assured him he would be perfectly safe, and Walt had science things to be getting back to at the university. Cecil shooed him away, texted Carlos the address of the motel, and settled down to wait.

Twenty minutes later there was a quiet knock on the door.

“Carlos?” Cecil asked hopefully; he hadn’t been expecting him for another twenty minutes at least.

Cecil opened the door, but it was Mr. Tanner from the university.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hello,” Tanner said, looking over Cecil’s shoulder at the empty room. “Carlos sent me to pick you up and meet you halfway.”

Cecil frowned at him. “Carlos told me to wait for him here.”

“Yeah, well, he changed his mind.”

“How about we call him?” Cecil asked, trying to slowly close the door.

Tanner grabbed the edge of the door and forced it open; he was surprisingly strong for a scientist. “How about you just come with me?”

Cecil gave up the battle for the door and retreated carefully into the room, casting his eyes about casually for a weapon, just in case. “I think I’d better stay here and wait for Carlos.”

“Don’t you want to meet him halfway? It would save a lot of time.”

Cecil blinked open his third eye, trying to see the truth behind the other man’s intentions. He was met with a strange haze that obscured his vision; it was rather like looking through clouded glass.

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm and he returned his attention to the signals his other two eyes were sending him. Tanner had closed the distance and was beginning to drag Cecil towards the door.

Cecil quickly pulled back, but the scientist’s grip was tight—too tight.

Cecil’s next instinct was to use his tentacles to attack the man, but Carlos’ warning was fresh in his mind. He had just reluctantly decided that he’d better start looking for another option when Tanner suddenly let go of his arm.

Cecil looked up in surprise, and never saw the cheap motel lamp that drove itself into the back of his skull and plunged the radio host into dizzy blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chant Cecil uses to try and get past the campus security station is in Hausa, which is spoken primarily in Niger and Nigeria.
> 
> The idea of Cecil's tattoos being shy comes from Totalizzyness' adorable fic "Apologies" ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014633 )


	2. A Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's been kidnapped...but can Carlos find him in time?

Carlos screeched on the brakes as he slid to a stop outside the motel whose address Cecil had texted him. He quickly threw the car into park, turned the ignition off, and jumped out. Cecil’s text had said he was in room 5, so Carlos wasted no time sprinting to the appropriate door.

He couldn’t wait to see Cecil again, especially after so many days of thinking he might never get back to Night Vale and be trapped without him.

He knocked quickly on the door. “Cecil, it’s me. Carlos.”

He waited, beaming in anticipation, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet nervously.

When there was no reply, Carlos’ smile faltered. He knocked again, louder this time. “Cecil?”

His hand dropped to the door and tried the handle—it was unlocked.

Frowning, he pushed it open and stepped into the room.

It was empty, and there was no sign of Cecil. The sheets on the bed were undisturbed, and everything was off and properly tucked away.

Carlos took a few hesitant steps forward, flipping the lights on. He scanned the room again, but there was no sign anyone had even been there recently. Perhaps he had gotten the room number wrong.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and double-checked Cecil’s text, but it clearly said room 5. His eyes slid past the phone in his hands to the motel floor and he frowned.

He slowly dropped into a crouch and stared at the tiny little dark circle on the carpet that had arrested his attention. Granted, it was a motel, so it could have been anything, but on a hunch Carlos reached forward and dabbed at it with a hesitant finger.

He stood up and came back near the door, where the light was stronger, and his breath caught in his throat.

He rubbed the dark liquid between his forefinger and thumb just to be sure, but in the sunlight it shifted between shades of red and purple, and he only knew one person with blood that did that.

Carlos felt his stomach turn to acid as he rubbed Cecil’s blood off his fingers and onto his jeans.

He flipped the lights off, pulled the door closed, and strode quickly over to the main entrance as calmly as he could.

“Hey!” Carlos called as he approached the empty counter. He dinged the little hemispherical bronze bell a couple more times than absolutely necessary.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” came the reply, and a moment later a gruff-looking man appeared. “You want a room?”

“No, I’m looking for someone. He would have checked in maybe an hour ago, about my height, glasses, pretty weird looking?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Psychic third-eye tattoo. Looked like he walked straight out of an 80’s disco.”

Carlos let out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, he came in with Bill Nye about an hour ago, left about fifteen minutes ago with another guy,” the man continued.

“Wait—what? Bill Nye? What other guy?”

“The first dude was all dressed up like a scientist, you know? Lab coat, looked like an actuary?” He registered Carlos’ blank expression. “About yea tall, broad, graying hair? Said he was from the university?”

“Oh! Walt, okay.”

“Yeah, he paid for the room while Psychic tried to steal all my pens, kept saying they were illegal. What a nutjob.”

“Yeah, well, you know where he is?” Carlos rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe everyone in Night Vale was crazy, inhuman, and/or highly dangerous, but at least they were straightforward.

“Told you, saw him and some other dude drive off not fifteen minutes ago. Seemed pretty cozy.”

Carlos immediately frowned. “Cozy  _how_?”

“Leaning on each other, like  _a lot_ ,” the man’s voice took on a disapproving note. “Seemed to me Psychic Boy was either high or slammed. Needed a lot of help to make it to the car. People these days—they just don’t know when to stop, do they?”

Carlos took a deep, shuddering breath. “Just…what did this other guy look like? Or his car? Which way did he go?”

The man shrugged noncommittally and glanced down at the counter. His eyes wandered for a bit and then he looked back up at Carlos. “You know, I just don’t really remember, you get me?”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. Typical.

He pulled his wallet out and slid two twenties across the counter. “Tell me everything you remember.”

The man grinned and pocketed the cash. “Didn’t get a real good look at the guy because he didn’t come in here, I just caught him leaving with Psychic when I went out earlier to get the newspaper. He had dark hair, was wearing a sort of green jacket, like knockoff army style, you know? Had a rusty pickup, I remember thinking what a hunk of junk it was. Drove off north.”

Carlos’ heart sunk. “That’s all?” Dark hair, pickup truck? That hardly narrowed the playing field. It could have been anyone, then, anyone at all Cecil had bumped into and who’d thought he’d be easy prey. Cecil did have a couple tricks up his sleeve, but Carlos wasn’t sure if they’d even work outside of Night Vale, and if Cecil was unconscious or sedated, then he’d pose no threat at all.

“Well, that and he’s from the university.”

Carlos’ head snapped around. “What?”

“Yeah, same as Bill Nye. They’ve got those flashy ID cards they all carry on lanyards on their belts, don’t they?”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“That’s about it.”

“Thank you,” Carlos said, and meant it.

“Yeah, well, get him off whatever he’s on, if you get me.”

Carlos gave him a forced smile and left.

He jumped in his car and dialed Cecil’s cell. It went to voice mail, which either meant it was off or Cecil couldn’t answer it. He left a message anyway telling Cecil to call him once he got this.

He dialed the university next, and eventually managed to get Walt on the phone.

“Walt! Thank God! I thought I’d never reach you.”

“Carlos?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Cecil’s not with you, is he?”

“No, I left him at the motel. What’s the problem?”

“He’s not here.” Carlos drummed his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, staring at the motel. “The guy at the counter says he saw him leaving with someone from the university. Dark hair, army knockoff jacket. Sound like anyone you know? Someone Cecil might have bumped into?”

On the other end of the line, Walt swore viciously. “I knew I should have stayed with him until you got there, Carlos. It’s—that sounds like Tanner.”

“Tanner? Wait—that friend of yours?”

“Yeah, well, no. New guy Tanner, started at the university about a month ago, got hired as an assistant lab tech. He knew his stuff, but seemed a little…quiet…to me. Like, we’d all be talking or having lunch or whatever and he’d just be sitting all by himself. And when Cecil showed up earlier today, he just sort of stood by the door and…I don’t know—watched him. Like he was watching a trapped frog trying to escape, or the way a hunter watches a deer. It was…if it was him, Carlos, I’ll fire him, I swear. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get a decent job in—”

“Walt, Walt, where do you think he might have gone? Did he have a…I don’t know…hideout?”

“His apartment’s just off campus, but I’m pretty sure he’s got a roommate. He wouldn’t have taken Cecil there—God, Carlos, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Carlos said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose yet again. He was going to get sore. “Just—help me find him.”

“Of course. I’ll call the police, have them put an APB out on him.”

“Wait—” Carlos paused, thinking this through. “Do we really want the police grabbing Cecil?” The man at the motel might have written Cecil off as a hippie, but the last thing he wanted was to have to extract Cecil from a bunch of freaked out men and women with firearms and government protection. That being said, was it better to leave Cecil in the hands of someone who they  _knew_ had bad intentions? Carlos debated, feeling the precious seconds ticking away, knowing making the wrong decision could spell a terrible fate for Cecil. “Nevermind, call the police,” Carlos sighed at last. “Tell them he’s an actor for a movie shoot, or something, to explain the third eye.”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to—I don’t know, I’m going to try to find him on foot, I guess.”

“I’ll call you if they find anything.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, dipping his head to grind it into the steering wheel.

“Okay…I’m really sorry, Carlos. I should have stayed with him.”

“No, it’s okay, Walt. It’s not your fault.”  _It’s mine._

“He sounded like he’d be fine…he really wanted to find you, Carlos.”

“Yeah, I know.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“We’ll find him, Carlos, don’t worry.”

Carlos took a deep shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“I’m going to call the police now.”

“Okay.” As an afterthought: “Thanks.”

“No problem. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Carlos dropped his phone into the center console and raised his head, the road and the motel partially obscured by unshed tears. Carlos sniffed and rubbed them away with his sleeve, then put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.

Cecil could be anywhere—anywhere at all, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t at least going to roll the statistical dice.

He pulled the car out into the road and turned north.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

The first thing Cecil became aware of was the dull throbbing ache in the back of his skull. He winced as the world abruptly jolted up and down, and hesitantly cracked an eye open.

He was in the cramped backseat of an unfamiliar car, or perhaps a truck, the air filled with the sound of violins all playing in concert. He squinted against the bright sunlight filtering through the windshield and tried to raise a hand to block it, but his wrists were tied together with white plastic zipties.

Cecil must have made a noise, because a set of dark eyes appeared in the rearview mirror, and they were not Carlos’.

The driver said nothing, but Cecil recognized him as the man from the university, and then the motel.

“Where are you taking me?” Cecil asked, swallowing away the dryness in his throat. He straightened up as much as he could in the cramped backseat, relieved that nothing besides his head seemed hurt.

The man did not reply.

Cecil shook off the last of his haze and began taking in his surroundings more carefully. “Carlos will find me, you know,” he said offhandedly, inspecting the zipties carefully. His seatbelt was on, pinning him back to his seat, but his feet seemed to be unrestrained. If he could just get out of the car, he might be able to make a break for it.

“He’s a scientist. A very good scientist, and he’ll find me.”

The man’s eyes blinked out of the rearview mirror and returned to the road.

Cecil peered over the edge of the passenger’s seat and out the windshield, noting that they were in a town in the desert—which town he couldn’t be sure, but the sun was still around where it had been before, and he wasn’t hungry or thirsty yet. He couldn’t have been out very long.

“You know,” Cecil said casually, letting his voice drop the octave to his radio range, “you should really just let me go.”

The man gave no response.

Cecil took a careful breath and closed his eyes. He opened his third eye, directed all his attention at the man in the driver’s seat, and channeled all the power of the Voice of Night Vale into his next words. “Let. Me. Go.”

After a moment Cecil opened his lower two eyes and saw the man giving him a hateful stare in the rearview mirror. “What’s this—hypnosis? You’re more loony than I thought.”

Cecil frowned. That should have worked. No one, mortal or otherwise, could resist the full power of the Voice.

He closed his eyes again, feeling for the energy usually so dormant in him, urging it to rise up and fill him, but it remained motionless and calm. He tried again, and this time he pulled so hard that when his mental grip slipped, he gasped and his eyes shot open. He looked out the window and, watching the sandy buildings flash by, realized what the problem was.

He was the Voice of Night Vale, but he was no longer in Night Vale. He drew his power from the city itself, but while he was here in this strange land, he was too far away to tap those vast reserves. He looked sadly out the glass and listened gloomily to the melancholy orchestrated weather being played on the car radio.

Some minutes later, Tanner’s truck rolled to a stop on the edge of town. He pulled into a gravel lot and parked all the way at the back. A row of large gray warehouses squatted nearby.

Cecil lowered his eyelids halfway, feigning exhaustion, but followed Tanner’s every motion with his eyes like a snake watches its prey.

Tanner stopped the vehicle and got out, moving around to open Cecil’s door.

Cecil sat complacently as Tanner raised a gun to his face. “Now, don’t make any sudden movements, or I’ll blow your brains out.”

 _Silly man_ , Cecil thought to himself.  _Guns don’t kill people_.

Tanner carefully reached around the radio host and stabbed the seat belt release button. He took several hasty steps backwards, keeping Cecil covered with the gun. The moment the belt had crossed out of Cecil’s way, he sprang into action. He leapt out of the truck and dropped to the ground as the gun let out a sharp  _bang!_

“Sorry, Carlos,” Cecil muttered in regret as he jumped back to his feet and eight purple tentacles burst from his back.

Tanner screamed and the gun discharged again as a tentacle whipped forward and wrestled it from his grip. Another smacked him hard across the face, blinding him temporarily as Cecil kicked at his shins. The scientist dropped to his knees and threw his arms over his face even as Cecil retracted his tentacles and snatched the fallen car keys off the ground. Cecil dashed around the rusty pick-up and jumped in, forcing the keys in the ignition as well as he could with wrists still tied. He quickly chanted the starting chant, but nothing happened. He frowned, and then remembered that Carlos’ car had similar issues starting.

He turned the key like he’d seen Carlos do and clumsily shifted the truck into reverse as it jumped to life. Cecil slammed on the gas and the car shot backwards across the parking lot, the open door in the backseat slamming shut as he jerked on the steering wheel to face the vehicle towards the road.

He glanced out a side mirror as he threw the car into drive and saw Tanner staggering to his feet. He’d retrieved the gun from the ground and was pointing it shakily at the back of the truck. Cecil tried to jerk the vehicle into a swerve, but the truck abruptly jolted as the gun cracked again, and it began to limp along with an awful crunching sound.

Cecil realized the scientist must have shot out one of the tires, and slammed on the brakes. He wrestled the door open, half fell out, and began sprinting towards the road, trying to keep the truck between himself and Tanner. He heard the ding of a bullet hitting the car and ducked instinctively.

He reached the road and ran flat-out towards the town, keeping his bound hands in front of him.

“Secret police! Secret police! Help!” he shouted as he reached the first buildings, his words ragged and spaced between gasps for air. He glanced behind him; Tanner was a good distance behind, and though Cecil was tiring, it appeared Tanner was too.

Cecil admitted to himself that he probably could have benefited from some more exercise, but it seemed a little late now. Luckily, working as a scientist had made Tanner as out of shape as the radio host.

When it became apparent that the secret police were either unwilling to help an outsider or had not heard him, Cecil gasped into the silence and dodged between two buildings, following the noises of traffic and people.

Cecil skidded out into what looked like an older section of town. Cars clogged the road and people walked along the sidewalks in clusters, window-shopping.

Cecil glanced both directions and paused, still panting, as he spotted an encouraging-looking building to the right.

He dashed down the street, dodging between groups of people, ignoring their rude comments as he flashed by. He heard a commotion behind him and realized Tanner must be hot on his heels.

Cecil broke back into an exhausted run as he yanked open the door to his target building and ducked inside. The sign above the door read, in large silver letters, FLAGSTAFF PUBLIC LIBRARY.

The radio host pushed through the airlock and immediately went on the defensive. He dropped his stance so his weight was lower and waited for the sound of Tanner entering just behind him.

“Librarians! Librarians!” Cecil shouted. “We are in your library!” He paused a second longer and then bolted to the right, ducking past some tables into the maze of bookshelves.

He heard muffled cursing from behind him followed by a couple screams.

Cecil glanced over his shoulder, hoping that was the sound of the librarians attacking Tanner, but was disappointed to see that it was just other people screaming as Tanner brandished his gun in the air.

Cecil saw Tanner turn towards him, raising the firearm as he did, and the radio host dove down a side aisle just as the bookshelf behind him exploded.

Cecil tripped over something and slammed heavily into the floor. He pushed himself back up as quickly as he could on bound hands and lurched forward, realizing for the first time that there was blood on his left sleeve. He ignored it in favor of staggering into a sprint as he dodged between bookshelves, the sound of Tanner’s pursuit close behind.

Cecil, uncomfortable with being in a library this long in case the librarians decided he was as good a target as Tanner, was hurriedly looking for an exit. He spun around a nonfiction bookcase and spied a bright red EXIT sign. He ran towards it, casting another glance over his shoulder as he did so. He turned his attention back to the front just in time to slam into an air conditioning unit protruding from the wall. His thigh gave out and he was knocked to the floor, swearing.

He glanced up and saw that the emergency exit was still twenty feet away. He staggered to his feet and managed a couple half steps before his leg gave out again and he dropped back onto the floor.

Tanner was very close now, cursing loudly and knocking things over from a few bookshelves away.

Cecil dragged himself a little closer to the door, using his bound hands to pull himself along the carpet, but he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Instead, his eyes riveted themselves on a fire extinguisher inset into the wall not far away. He reached it and smashed his way through the glass with an elbow.

He had just managed to free the extinguisher when Tanner slid around the corner, gun still in hand.

Cecil pulled the extinguisher clumsily into his lap and pulled the pin. An explosion of white gas enveloped Tanner, who coughed and staggered backwards. There was a  _bang!_  as his gun went off, and the wall next to Cecil exploded. The radio host ducked his head as he was showered with drywall, and was relieved when Tanner’s gun finally clicked empty.

Cecil gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet, leaning gingerly on his injured leg and keeping his hands locked around the fire extinguisher. He leaned heavily against the wall and walked forward as quickly as he could, making for the emergency exit. He pushed it open and almost fell outside in his haste. An alarm began to sound as Cecil dropped back against the exterior wall, holding the fire extinguisher tight to his chest.

After a few moments Tanner emerged, kicking the bottom of the door open impatiently, coughing and smearing at something on his face with the back of his hand.

Cecil waited only for the door to close far enough before raising the fire extinguisher and bringing it down hard on Tanner’s head.

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

Carlos took his foot off the accelerator as his phone buzzed. He glanced at the road and then grabbed his phone.

“Cecil?”

“Sorry. Walt.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, actually. Just talked to the police. There was an altercation just on the north side of town, near some warehouses.”

“What kind of altercation?” Carlos demanded.

“A firefight. Well—there’s one witness, a bum who claims he came over when he heard the first shot.”

“First? What—how many were there? Any sign of Cecil? Was he hit?” Carlos pulled off onto a cross street and veered up next to the curb.

“Slow down, Carlos. The witness says he saw—well, thought he saw—a man matching Cecil’s description attack his assailant with large purple tentacles.” The skepticism in Walt’s voice was clear.

Carlos let out a huge sigh of relief and sagged back in the seat. At least one of Cecil’s tricks still worked here.

“You know, when he was at the university, he said he had tentacles, but—damn. What have you gotten yourself into, Carlos?”

Carlos let out a short laugh. “I wish I knew, Walt, I wish I knew. What happened next?”

“Well, sounds like the police wrote the bum off as high or something. But it sounds like Cecil tried to drive off in the man’s pick-up but he shot out the tires.”

“Okay.”  _Smart move, Cecil_.

“And then they both ran off towards town, Cecil with a decent lead, sounds like. Cecil was yelling some about, um ‘secret police’? And he said it looked like Cecil’s hands might have been tied. And Carlos—the bum said the second man still had a gun.”

Carlos wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more worried. He settled for the latter. “Which way did he say they were headed?”

“Into town, so south.”

“Thanks a million, Walt.”

“I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. And let me know when you find him.”

 _Thanks for the ‘when.’_ “Thanks. Bye.”

Carlos threw his phone back into the center console and pulled into the road, pointing his car north.

Five minutes later the radio station he was half-listening to switched abruptly to some urgent news.

Carlos turned it up.

_“There appears to have been repeated discharges of a firearm in the Flagstaff Public Library. Little information is currently available from the authorities…it seems the suspect has been caught near an emergency exit at the rear of the building with the firearm on him. It is uncertain if anyone has been hurt. More on this story later. In the meantime, call in in the next five minutes for a chance to win tickets—”_

Carlos flipped to the next station, keeping half an eye on the road, looking for a station with more information about the library. What if Cecil had been shot? What if he had been hoping the librarians—Carlos’ hand froze on the dial.

_“—really lovely station.”_

Carlos’ heart stopped and fell through a hole that had just opened in his stomach.

 _“I mean, just look how many interns you have!”_  Cecil’s voice continued from the radio, smooth and deep and unmistakable.  _“So healthy, and whole, and still breathing, and unmarred by the trials of radio internshiphood!”_

For what felt like the tenth time in the last three hours, Carlos swerved off the main road with no warning to his fellow drivers. This time he barreled into a bank parking lot and didn’t even bother to glance at the parking lines. His breath was coming twice as fast as it was supposed to, and his heart had returned to its normal position in his chest so it could match his breath for speed.  _Cecil’s alive. Cecil’s okay._

He allowed himself a moment to grin in relief, laughing softly. Of course Cecil would have gone to a radio station. Where else would he have gone?

 _“And station management! I can’t believe I actually met them, and still maintain a corporeal form! Also, your equipment is very nice and not at all covered in viscera and human entrails like a certain_ other _radio station.”_

There was a chuckling from the radio, and then another voice.  _“And this, listeners, from the mysterious man who just barged into my recording studio claiming to be a radio broadcaster himself, from…where was that, again?”_

_“Night Vale.”_

_“Well, we’ll be talking more with Mr.—Cecil Palmer, you said?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“More with Mr. Cecil Palmer when we return. Next—”_

_“Sorry to interrupt, but if anyone has seen a handsome scientist around town—dark hair with premature yet dignified graying around the temples, a great jaw, and an oaky voice—please let him know where I am.”_

_“Yes, he’s been saying that ever since he got here. Well, coming up next is Bon Jovi, here at 93-9, the Mountain.”_

The radio switched over to the song, and Carlos had never loved “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” more than he did in that moment. He googled the address of the station on his phone, pulled up the maps app, and was back out on the road in a flash.

He was outside the station before Jon Bon Jovi had finished singing. There was a no-parking sign in front of the station, but he pulled over anyway.

He jumped out of the car and was at the door in seconds, pulling it open and demanding directions to the recording booth from the nearest person in sight.

Carlos ignored the illuminated ON AIR sign in favor of rapping loudly on the frosted glass of the station door. He saw movement, and a moment later the door opened to reveal the only face Carlos cared to see.

“Carlos!” Cecil squeaked as the scientist took the half step forward and enveloped his boyfriend in a monstrous hug. He buried his face in Cecil’s shoulder, distantly aware that someone else was in the recording studio but not really caring. He had found Cecil, and he was in one piece, and he was never going to let him go.

“God, Cecil, I’m so glad you’re all right!” Carlos gasped at last, forcing himself to pull back, but keeping a firm grip on Cecil’s shoulders. “I was so worried—what happened?” His eyes riveted immediately on the blood soaking Cecil’s shirt sleeve and quickly pulled his hand away from that shoulder in case it was causing him pain.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Cecil assured him. “Just a graze.” His eyes were likewise locked on Carlos, a lopsided grin on his face. His hair was a mess and dusted with something that looked like drywall, and his dress shirt was smudged with blood in several places, but he appeared largely intact.

“And your elbow!” Carlos went on, continuing his visual once-over of his boyfriend. “And your wrists!” He took Cecil’s hands in his own and rubbed a thumb gently over the thin red band indented into Cecil’s skin. He was beginning to feel very uncharitably towards Mr. Tanner.

Cecil winced and grimaced. “Had to break some glass to get to the fire extinguisher. Did you know that fire extinguishers here shoot white smoke instead of venomous bats? I was so surprised.”

Carlos tried to work up some disapproving reaction, but he couldn’t seem to peel the ridiculous smile off his own face. He pulled Cecil into another hug.

“I’m just so glad you’re all right,” he whispered again, feeling his eyes get a little damp as all the stress of the last four days seeped out of him.

This time it was Cecil that pulled away. He motioned with his head back towards the interior of the studio. “I think he wants his show back.”

Carlos followed his gaze and was mortified to see the show’s regular broadcaster sitting back in his chair, grinning broadly at them. He looked at the nearby microphones, and the little red lights on them. The scientist’s eyes dropped to a visual readout of what was going out.

“Um, Cecil,” Carlos said very quietly, watching, horrified, as the readout jumped at his voice. “Have we been on the air this whole time?”

The man in the chair nodded and raised his hands in a ‘well, what’d you know?’ gesture and Carlos felt his cheeks color.

The man leaned forward towards one of the microphones. “Well, listeners, wasn’t that an interesting break from our regular programming? It seems our radio broadcasting guest found that scientist he was looking for after all. Now, I think we’ll go to Styx.”

Carlos’ cheeks were still burning as he turned and led Cecil out of the studio by the wrist. Cecil flinched away even as he followed, and Carlos quickly let go, remembering the red marks.

“You really okay?” Carlos asked once they were alone in the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Cecil said quickly.

Carlos didn’t want to press, but he needed to know if anything was seriously wrong.

“Come on, Cecil, talk to me. Are you  _really_  okay?”

Cecil shrugged. “Yeah. I talked to your scientist pals at the university, one of them took me to the motel—he was very nice as well—and then another one—Tanner, I think—came back, said he was going to take me halfway to meet with you.”

Carlos frowned.

“But, naturally, I didn’t believe him, and then he must have hit me on the head with something, and the next thing I know he was taking me to some warehouses.”

“Yeah, I heard what happened,” Carlos said quietly, reaching to put an arm around Cecil.

The radio host looked uncomfortable, and Carlos quickly pulled back. “What?”

“Oh, just…” Cecil trailed off uncertainly and gave Carlos a nervous look.

Carlos frowned again, trying to figure out what was wrong. He carefully took Cecil’s hand.

“Please don’t be upset…”

“Cecil, what is it?” Carlos was genuinely puzzled.

The radio host looked down at where Carlos’ fingers intertwined with his and took a shaky breath. “It’s just…you specifically said I shouldn’t…but then I did anyway, and I’m sorry if I broke some sort of rule, but I was worried it would be my only chance, and my hands were tied, and I just wanted to get back to you—” Cecil’s words were all jumbling up on each other, and Carlos finally realized what he was going on about.

“Wait, wait, Cecil, is this about attacking Tanner with your tentacles?”

Cecil bit his lip and nodded slowly, eyes still locked on their hands.

Carlos felt a little giddy; he’d been seriously concerned there for a moment or two. “Cecil, dear, I thought the tentacles were  _great_!”

“What?” Cecil looked up quickly and Carlos bit back a laugh.

“It was  _great_ , Cecil, it was fine.”

Cecil brightened considerably. “Really? Even after you said—”

“If it’s my word or your life, Cecil, you ignore everything I’ve ever said to you, okay?”

Cecil seemed greatly relieved. “Oh, good. I—”

They were briefly interrupted as the man from the broadcast swung the door to the studio open. He gave them a knowing smile. “You guys going to be okay?”

Cecil nodded at him. “Thanks for letting me on the show.”

“Yes, thank you,” Carlos echoed. “Here—.” He dug around for his wallet.

“No, no, it was my pleasure,” the man said, waving Carlos away. “Really. It’s the most exciting thing to happen all month, believe me.”

Carlos gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you so much for looking after him for me.” He jerked his head at Cecil.

“Hey!” the radio host protested, but the man just smiled again.

“No problem. Cool tattoo, by the way.” This last was addressed at Cecil as he gestured at his forehead.

Cecil blinked open the third eye. “It’s not a tattoo,” he explained.

Carlos watched the man’s mouth drop open and decided it was time to leave. He took Cecil by his good arm and began steering him towards the door. “Thanks again!” he called as he marched Cecil outside and into his car. The scientist gathered up the portable radio and homemade transmitter from the front seat and dumped them in the back to clear room for his boyfriend. The portable radio was still quietly broadcasting NVCR, and Carlos turned the volume all the way down with a smile; he had the genuine article now.

Cecil dropped into the passenger seat with a grin as Carlos climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over at him.

“Your world’s pretty fun, Carlos, you know that?”

“What?” Carlos asked incredulously as he pulled back out onto the street.

“You know, at first I thought it was a little weird, but it’s not so bad, you know that?”

Carlos stared at him. “Seriously? After the…crazy scientist guy—he’s getting fired forever, by the way, don’t let me forget to call Walt back…and the shootings at the library—that was you, right?” Cecil nodded agreement. “After all that?”

“It’s not so bad, though, really,” Cecil said, settling himself into a more comfortable position, wincing as he stretched his leg out. “I mean, those librarians were pretty tame, and the Voice of Flagstaff was so nice! And the sky here is totally the wrong color, but it’s a really pretty blue, actually. Endless like Void, but sweeter, you know? And even Tanner—I mean, the City Council does worse than that on manhunt Mondays.”

Carlos huffed in disbelief but left it at that. They could discuss the pros and cons of his world at length once they were back in Cecil’s. Now…

“Cecil, I take it you know how to get back to Night Vale?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, of course. Should be easy.”

Carlos relaxed. It was all going to work out, it really was for once.

“I mean—assuming you still want to go back.”

Carlos gave him a quizzical glance. “What? Of course I want to go back, Cecil.”

“Ah. I just thought, maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

“Well…” Cecil sighed. “I was worried…maybe going home would make you miss it more, and not want to leave again. That’s why I didn’t want you to go in the first place. I see what you like about it now, Carlos. It’s very nice here, and I know how you don’t like the re-education in Night Vale, and the Sheriff’s Secret Police and the ban on pens and wheat and wheat by-products—”

“Cecil, that doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.” He looked unconvinced.

“Cecil, I’m not going to lie; Night Vale isn’t perfect, but it isn’t perfect here either. And if it’s between Night Vale with you and here all by myself—well, then, it’s no contest, is it?”

Cecil gave him a small smile and Carlos grinned back. “So, Night Vale—back north, right?”

 

\--~~~--***--~~~--

 

An hour later they were streaming down the desert highway, kicking up a cloud of red dirt half a mile long.

Cecil sat in the passenger seat, directing Carlos down side roads and tiny dirt trails before joining back up with asphalt. Carlos was beginning to doubt Cecil’s methods, but he appeared confident enough. Every now and then he’d glance over to see his boyfriend’s third eye open while his other two remained closed. That’s usually when Cecil would tell him to switch roads.

They were getting close to where Carlos had done most of his searching when Cecil prodded his arm. “Carlos.”

“Yeah?” Carlos glanced over to see all three of Cecil’s eyes wide open, though he didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular.

“Night Vale is just ahead,” Cecil intoned, and suddenly his voice had dropped an octave, rendering it smooth and deep. “Night Vale is just ahead,” he repeated tonelessly, and for the first time since Carlos had met him, he felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

Carlos swallowed and took his foot off the gas. “Cecil—”

“Just ahead,” Cecil repeated quickly, and his voice was higher now, and rushed. His hand gripped urgently at Carlos’ shirt sleeve. “Hurry, Carlos.”

It was the visible strain around Cecil’s eyes, like he was grappling with some great invisible force, that finally did it. He stepped harder on the accelerator and felt the car jump forward as it switched gears.

“Hurry, hurry, Carlos,” Cecil gasped, his lower two eyes now closed in deep concentration, his third eye glowing faintly and darkening in color to a rich purple. “Night Vale,” he intoned suddenly, his voice deeper than ever, the very air seeming to vibrate with its power. “Night Vale, the Voice commands you.” There was a pause, as though Cecil was listening to something, and then, firmly, “not without him.”

And all of a sudden Cecil’s grip on Carlos was like a vice, and Carlos had the accelerator all the way to the floor and he could hear Cecil’s breath catch in his throat.

Then, in front of them, the ground shimmered. It was like a mirage except bigger and whiter, seeming to stretch tens of feet into the air in a wavering curtain. Then a purplish flash lit up the desert, lancing across the sand in a huge circle, emanating from the ground in front of them like a shockwave. The car shook violently as the wave slammed into them, Carlos wrestling the vehicle back into submission as the flare dimmed and vanished.

And then there was Night Vale.

Dead ahead, just on the horizon. The water and broadcasting towers rose high above the flat desert stretching out to either side of the town. The glow cloud hovered just above them, flashing neon colors as usual. The whispering forest—far too green in a desert this red—clustered near the edge of town. And the sky was no longer eye-wateringly blue, but instead a sort of burnt purple orange color that Carlos suddenly thought was his favorite color in all the world.

Carlos beamed and glanced over at Cecil, then frowned immediately. He let the car coast and reached over to shake Cecil’s shoulder as he lay slumped motionless against the car window.

“Cecil? Cecil, you okay?” He could hear the concern in his own voice. “Cecil?”

Carlos glanced back at Night Vale briefly to make sure the car was still on the road before turning back to his boyfriend and shaking him more thoroughly. “Cecil? Cecil, talk to me. Please, Cecil—”

Cecil stirred under Carlos’ hand and the scientist sighed immensely.

“Carlos?” Cecil croaked, his voice dry and small.

“You all right?”

Cecil pushed himself upright, propping his arm up on the window and resting his cheek in his hand. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, and his voice climbed back into its normal pitches, though it still sounded a little tired. “Yeah, just…had to tap the power of the Voice to get Night Vale to materialize long enough for us to get through.”

“You—you can do that?” Carlos glanced back over at Cecil as they sped closer to the city.

Cecil made a face and reached up to rub the skin around his third eye, which was now closed. “Yeah. It’s not fun, though. And, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have needed to. I am from Night Vale, and the Voice especially. Getting back shouldn’t have been a problem. I mean, getting out should’ve been the hard part. And it was, trust me.”

“Really? Getting out was the easy part for me.”

“Well, for you, yeah. You’re not from Night Vale, so it had no issues letting you go. Night Vale is…well, it’s possessive. It keeps its own together and keeps outsiders out.”

Carlos thought that over. “Then how—”

“Did you get here in the first place?” Cecil finished. “I don’t know. Sheer luck, I suppose. And now it didn’t want to let you back in—that’s why I had to force the way open. It wanted me, but not you.” Cecil’s voice sounded incredibly weary, and Carlos cast him a worried glance.

“But—I’m in now, right?”

Cecil looked over at him and reached over to squeeze his hand. “Yes.”

“Well, then, I’ll never leave again.”

Cecil smiled, and then dropped his head back onto the headrest.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Carlos said. “Even if it didn’t work out perfectly.”

“It worked out perfectly for me,” Cecil said quietly, and Carlos looked over at him, the blood crusted on his collar and sleeve and the exhaustion written all over his face, but also contentment and relief, and wondered what he had ever done to deserve this beautiful, brave man.

“Then it worked out for me too,” Carlos said, squeezing his hand back.

Cecil sighed and closed his eyes. “How about you wake me when we get home, okay?”

“Sure.”

Carlos kept one hand laced with Cecil’s and the other on the wheel, watching Night Vale grow larger. Soon they were flashing past the outlying buildings and John Peters’ invisible corn fields, and Carlos had never been more relieved to see—or in the invisible corn fields’ case, not see—any of them.

It might be weird here, sure—killer librarians and throatspiders and wheat that turned into venomous snakes—but, looking over at the beautiful man in the passenger seat with his fingers intertwined with his own, it seemed to him more like home than home ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Cecil trying to start Carlos' car with a chant comes from another fic, but for the life of me I can't remember which.
> 
> Also, though Cecil refers to the area around Flagstaff as "the otherworld desert," it is not, in fact, THAT otherworld desert, simply AN otherworldly desert. And then of course at the end Carlos promises to never leave Night Vale again...and we all know how that ends. :-/
> 
> And, speaking of Flagstaff, I did some pretty intensive research into the bit of desert just northwest of Flagstaff, and its representation is pretty accurate...the location of certain buildings within Flagstaff, though, are not quite as true. The story just worked better when I wasn't sending poor Cecil twenty blocks out of his way; do forgive me.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!


End file.
